Morphine
by NotJasonTodd
Summary: One shot, from the perspective of Jason if he was a drug addict. Warning: drug use and suicide mention
1. Chapter 1

Jason laid back against the windowsill in his bedroom. The cool glass against his back, the fire in his veins, his mind was anywhere but here. He tried to not think of Catharine, but she always popped into his mind when he was doing _this_. He couldn't help himself. Literally, there was nothing he could do. He had a few broken ribs he guessed, nothing major, hopefully no internal bleeding. He wasn't a surgeon, and he'd rather die here, foaming at the mouth, than ask Bruce for help.

He could feel his body relaxing as the fire subsided, pumping the blood slower now. The pain was gone, the fire had burned it all away. He blinked a few times and clenched and unclenched his fist. Pulling the needle out of his arm, he avoided looking at the new hole he had made. He could remember being a boy, seeing the same marks on his mother day in and out. He didn't understand then, maybe he still didn't, maybe he was just in denial.

It was the third day of this, and he could feel himself starting to not feel the medicine as much as he should. It probably wasn't the best idea to go on patrol with an already broken collarbone, but he wasn't going to let his city go to shit as easily as the Batman did. He pushed those memories away, preferring to live in the fantasy he created with his mother, when he was a boy. He liked to imagine he had a normal childhood, like Tim had. He envied Tim, in that way. Jason sacrificed everything to clean up the city, to do good. He sacrificed his family, and his own life, to be better, to do what the others couldn't. Tim had never experienced that loss, that pain. Jason envied his happiness, his ignorance.

When his arm stopped bleeding, he got up off the window sill and sat back down on the bed, stretching and flexing every muscle, making sure everything was still working. He had promised himself a long time ago that he wouldn't turn into his mother, but it seems there is no running from prophecy. It was in his DNA. He would never be one of _them._ The adopted family, where everyone was loved and cared for, and had a roof over their heads. He gave everything he had for that family, and now where did that leave him? Sitting in a safehouse, with morphine running through his veins, alone.

He stumbled into the kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of Jack from the cupboard. He wasn't suicidal, but he wasn't stupid either. He knew mixing alcohol with opiates was a bad idea, but he didn't care. He felt more alone than he had in a while.

Jason took a swig directly from the bottle, letting the liquid warm his insides. He missed his mom. He wanted to talk to her again, just for a minute. He wanted her to hold him against her chest, the way she did when he was little. She could make him feel safe, nothing would get to him. When he got older, he realized the danger wasn't outside, it was inside her. Itching for a drink or a hit, she dulled herself to the point of never wanting to come back. The world was a dark disgusting place, and she knew it. If she could see him now, she would be disappointed.

He put the bottle down and sat at the kitchen counter, looking outside past the patio, into the dark Gotham night. Out there, where the world was in black and white, he had a purpose. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty, and in honesty, he enjoyed the _finite_ -ness off it all. He enjoyed the _endings_. The closing of a life, the finite end to someone's story.

When he was trained by the League, he was taught how to kill. But they taught him to be compassionate. They taught him everything about the human body. What parts will make a person talk, what parts will put someone out for good. They taught him in a way Bruce never had.

Tonight had been different, he supposed it was always difficult when the target won't defend themselves. Sure, Marone had sent his goons after Jason, but down at the very end, it was just the two of them. Just Jason and his target. Marone had laughed, in a sort of gleeful defeated way. More like, he had been expecting this to happen, and he was ready. Ready to die.

Jason talked with him for a while, delaying the inevitable. They shared a drink, and then Jason put a bullet in his brain. He knew how to do it so they felt no pain, so it was quick. Marone didn't need to be tortured, and for his willingness to die, Jason felt the only courtesy he could give was to make it quick and painless. Taking a life was more intimate than sex, taking a life needed willpower and empathy. With Marone's last words in his head, he took another swig of alcohol.

He knew he owed Marone nothing. But he wanted to find his family, tell them he had loved them. That it was painless, he didn't suffer. Jason felt he was cursed with a conscience. He gazed out into the night sky, the ache coming back to his ribs and collarbone. He took a sigh and walked back into the bedroom, kit still on the windowsill where he had left it.

Jason sat back down against the cool windowpane, taking a deep breath and feeling the ache in his lungs come back more. He was still fuzzy from the last round, but he thought if there was any pain at all, he deserved to do the only thing that helped. He didn't care if he OD'd here. It would be fitting really. At least he could do it by himself this time, peacefully, and not in a warehouse filled with explosives.

He focused on his hands, cleaning the syringe off with antiseptic before plunging it into the glass bottle. He lifted the bottle upside down and pulled a good amount into the syringe. He added a little more than usual, hoping it would let him sleep. He hadn't had decent sleep since he left his coffin. He pulled the syringe out and set it down, ritually cleaning his arm and putting the tourniquet around his bicep. He took another deep breath, looking out over the Gotham skyline, the sun was almost starting to rise.

As the ache in Jason's lungs intensified, he watched the needle enter his arm, back in the same vein he used before. He absentmindedly thought he would have to switch arms once it collapsed. He pushed the stopper down slowly and felt the fire creep up his arm to his shoulder. Once the medicine was in, he unwrapped he tourniquet and the fire shot into his heart like an bulelt. He could feel the fire, pumping with the blood before it spread to every part of his body. He could feel the fire in his fingertips, in his head, deep in his bones. He dropped the needle to the ground and stumbled to his bed.

He collapsed down, not bothering to clean the trail of blood dripping down his arm. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy, and a small panic inside him screamed, _not yet! I'm not ready to go just yet!_ He took in a deep breath and felt his body melt down into the sheets, as his heartbeat started slowing. He didn't really care, anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jason finally cracked his eyes open, light was flooding in from the window pouring all over the floor. He grumbled, rolling away from the light on instinct. He blinked a few times, curing up in the warmth under the covers. He blinked a few times, wondering what the hell time it was. Finally he turned over, squinting at the sunlight. The amber light pooled around the floor next to the bed, landing on his kit still on the windowsill. That got him up. He knew morphine shouldn't be in direct sunlight.

He stood up and pulled the kit into his lap on the bed. He glanced at the clock on his bed stand, almost six o clock. He had managed to sleep the night and day away. He supposed that was for the best, now he could just jump into patrol.

Jason pulled the glass bottle up to his face, it was almost empty. As he pulled the last few drops of precious liquid into the syringe, he knew he would need to hit someone up for more. He would rather detox cold turkey rather than hit up Bats, but luckily, he knew someone who could help.

He pushed the needle into his arm, hardly feeling it anymore. He stretched his neck back and forth, feeling the pull of muscle across bone. His collarbone was still sore, and probably would be for a few weeks.

He ignored his gut intuition as he picked up the phone and dialed Roy's number.

He felt the fire travel from his shoulder down into his heart again like a lit match. The fire never seemed to dull, every time felt like the first. It felt like a bomb, exploding in every single blood cell in his body. Suddenly the world was calmer, and quieter. He took a deep breath of air in, letting the crisp air cool his fiery insides.

He pulled out the needle and placed everything back into the kit. He walked over to the closet, electing to wear long sleeves today. He didn't want judgment from Roy, but then again, Roy wasn't one to pass judgement on others.

Jason wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a hefty mix of bourbon and coffee while waiting for Roy.

The sun was almost set by the time Roy showed up. His smile almost lit up the apartment, and Jason was glad to have his company.

Roy walked in and took a look around the trashed apartment before turning to Jason, "Jesus you look like shit."

Jason rolled his eyes, "Thanks a lot pal. Knew I could count on you."

"You okay? Wanna talk about it?" Jason knew it was an empty gesture and shook his head. He knew Roy had his own demons, and Jason wasn't about to have a group therapy session.

"I just need something stronger. The morphine isn't really doing the trick anymore," Jason didn't really even comprehend what he was saying. He was trying so hard to detach himself from his own voice. He didn't recognize it anymore. Roy shot him a look before walking over to the countertop and setting his backpack down.

"What's your poison?" Roy joked, Jason could tell he wasn't comfortable either.

"Anything man," He repeated, "Anything to take the pain away."

"What's hurting?"

"Busted collarbone, few ribs, nothing major."

Roy shot him another look, "You probably shouldn't patrol tonight."

"Who are you? Batman?" Jason laughed despite the ache returning to his chest. He knew Roy was right, but he didn't care to be babysat right now. He and Roy had been…. distant lately.

Roy shrugged, unzipping his backpack, "I mean, I have some china white. But that might be a bit strong for you."

Jason shook his head, "Too far man, I don't wanna die…again."

Roy laughed at the dark humor before rummaging around in his backpack again, "Dilaudid?"

Jason grimaced as he pulled up one of his arm sleeves, "Perfect. What do I owe?"

Roy rolled his eyes, pulling a large bottle out of his pack. "Come on man, we're friends. First one's on me."

Roy winked, placing the glass bottle in front of Jason. The air was pregnantly still, Jason didn't know what he was doing. What is the proper etiquette for a drug deal? Roy sensed his tension and reached into his bag for a fresh needle and syringe.

Jason watched his, eyes as big as saucers, he could feel his adrenaline spiking. It was right there, so close. He absentmindedly wondered what would happen if he drank it. Roy fiddled with the syringe before picking the bottle and pulling the stopper out, filling only a small amount up.

"Start there, it's powerful, trust me," Jason almost licked his lips in anticipation as he took the needle from Roy's fingers. His hands were shaking as he positioned the needle just next to the other marks in his forearm. He could feel Roy staring at him and he said nothing.

"Push it slow," Roy watched him intently, as if he would collapse on the floor. Jason blinked a few times as he pulled the needle out.

"I don't feel anything," He said, stretching his neck again like he did when he pushed the morphine. Roy ignored him and started filling up another syringe for himself, "Give it a minute."

Jason sat there, feeling like a lump. He tried to focus on his heartbeat, waiting for the fire. But the fire never came. He watched as Roy injected the needle into his arm, littered with track marks as well. Looks like Roy was having a tough time too.

It started as a tickle at first, but it hit him like a brick in the face. As he watched Roy, he could feel his eyelids starting to droop. His limps felt like dead weight, like he had five-pound weights attached to his fingertips. "Woa man, this is a lot…different."

Roy laughed as he pulled the needle out, it didn't look like it affected him at all. "I like to think of myself as a drug connoisseur, much better than addict. But yeah, it helps if you cut it with some fentanyl to wake you up. Dilaudid is a good downer and takes the pain away. But for me, I need a little sumthin' to wake me up again."

Jason nodded, feeling distant. It was almost like he was a few steps behind everything else. His body was here, but his brain was a few clicks behind. This wouldn't be good for patrol, he would be a dead giveaway.

"Well shit man," Jason said, trying to blink to keep himself upright, "If you're offering, I'll take whatever you have."

Roy gave him a steady glance. He didn't want to condone this new habit of Jason's, but a small part of him enjoyed meeting people at the bottom. It made himself feel less bad about his own addiction. He pulled a small white bag from his pack and started pouring a small amount of powder onto the table top.

Jason could feel his heart beating louder, reminding him he was alive. He liked that feeling. He didn't like this though. He felt like he was underwater, everything was lightly muffled. Roy focused on cutting two thin lines of the powder in front of them. He pushed a small amount of powder into a little baggie and tossed it in Jason's direction before putting the rest away. He nodded at the two lines.

"Take the smaller one," Roy instructed. Jason didn't even want to ask what it was, but a small part of him was excited. There was a little part inside of him that he hadn't given control over too, but he wanted to. The part that wanted to shoot and kill and drug and not feel anything at all.

He looked at Roy, feeling like the water was drowning him. He needed to wake up. He could feel his heart racing as he knelt down over the countertop and put one finger to his nostril. He breathed in deeply.

"FUCK," He shot up, eyes wide open as he cursed, "Shit, Jesus."

Roy laughed, "I told you, this stuff is powerful."

Roy knelt over and made swift work of the line in front of him before shooting up in mostly the same manor Jason had.

Jason took scope of his body, the pain was gone. He felt distant, but sharp. The air had spikes and he could feel every brush on his skin. It was like he was sleepwalking, but awake. He couldn't describe it. His teeth felt sandy as he brushed his tongue over them, wiping away all the excess powder.

"Well I can patrol like this, this is nice," Jason stretched his arms out in front of him, itching for some action.

"Wanna go together?" Roy asked, feeling a weird bond with Jason now. Sometimes drugs were like that. It was intimate to shoot up together. In the back of his mind he felt guilty, but the china white was making quick work of that. He cracked his neck before pulling his gear from his backpack.

Jason nodded, thankful for the company. That was healthy right? Having friends? Jason tried to not think, everything was too sharp. "I'll change. Meet at the docks in fifteen."


	3. Chapter 3

As he crouched on the roof of the warehouse he could feel the crisp night air licking around him. His skin was so sensitive, it was like he could feel every molecule touching him. The dilaudid had made good work of the aching in his collarbone and chest, but the fentanyl was keeping him sharp. He didn't like saying he was 'high', but damn, the night didn't seem so horrible as it usually was.

Roy bounded over to him, spring in his step. "I forgot how active Gotham is at night. It's no wonder your entire family patrols and never runs into each other."

"Good," Jason stood up, still watching the dark alley below. "I don't like having to make small talk."

Roy paused, pressing his lips together into a thin hard line. "Have you talked to them at all?"

"Not since they figured out who I am. They are still figuring out how to get me in Arkham, I figure I have a good few weeks before they catch up with me." Jason said. He wasn't being totally honest. He had stopped killing for a while after he last saw them. But since he was a hired killer lately, it seemed like the Bats would be hot on his trail again soon. He didn't like thinking about it, and the drugs were making good work letting him forget his past.

"Have you…y'know," Roy paused as Jason rolled his eyes, knowing what to expect. "Talked to…Tim?"

"Don't plan to," Jason started walking to the side of the rooftop before jumping down to the fire escape, leaving Roy on the roof.

"You know, if you want to be broody and not talk you can just tell me."

Jason smiled at that, jumping down to the escape two floors down. He flipped a few more times, totally not showing off for Roy's benefit, before landing on the cold cement in the alley.

"I'm sure he's not a horrible kid," Roy said, jumping down beside Jason.

"Mhm," Jason said, rounding the back of the warehouse, really not wanting to have this conversation right now.

"I'm just saying, he probably idolized y-" Jason put his hand up, cutting Roy off as he crouched down. He pointed to a large window next to them, and a door beyond that. Dim light was pouring onto the sidewalk from the open window.

"Why would anyone be down here?" Roy whispered, suddenly feeling very underprepared for this.

"Good question," Jason said quietly, crouching under the window. "I know Maroni's people like to make deals down here."

He could feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, pounding in his ears. He unholstered his gun from his waist before turning and peaking a glance through the window.

"Are we on a stakeout and you didn't even tell me?" Roy whispered angrily as Jason stood up.

"Clearly not, looks like we are late," Jason paused, light washing over him from inside the warehouse.

"Late?" Roy didn't make a move. He knew he didn't want to look, but he had to.

"Too late," Jason blinked, pulling his game face up.

Roy put his hands on his knees and pushed down, hoisting himself to look in the window.

"Oh," Roy paused, looking inside, frozen, "That's a lot of blood."

Jason started walking, opening the large iron door next to the window. He was in full Batman mode now. To him, Batman mode wasn't a particular way of fighting, or a specific subset of skills Bruce had honed. It referred to the horror Batman saw on a daily basis. It was a specific way Batman tuned all of the feelings out, to find what mattered. Batman was never traumatized by what he saw, at least, he never showed it. He was calm and collected and never let the job break him.

Roy followed Jason inside, noting clues along the way. A large fluorescent tube of light lit up the floor, casting a yellow artificial light on everything it touched. There was a single chair lying haphazardly under the light, surrounded by liters of blood.

Jason pulled his phone from his back pocket, and started quickly snapping pictures of the scene. He noticed small indents on the chair, from where rope was used. It looked like the person was tied up, but squirming quite a lot, leaving rope marks on the wooden chair. Roy crouched down, looking at the entire pool of blood.

"I'm going to go ahead and say we are looking for a body," Roy noted.

"They were fighting back," Jason noted, taking a picture of a few blood droplets farther away. "This looks like torture."

Roy paused, standing up again. He took a few steps, looking at the surrounding items. There wasn't anything of real value. A large table stood in the shadows, covered in small pools of blood. There was a ring of blood from some sort of cup, Roy assumed. He felt the urge to pull his backpack open and indulge. He wasn't nearly prepared to deal with this. He believed that the Bat-family was way too accustomed to this carnage.

"So who was doing the torturing," Roy asked, watching Jason. "And who was being tortured?"

"And what were they looking for?" Jason asked, taking pictures of a trail of footprints by the door on the opposite end of the warehouse. "I'm guessing, about four people. One child."

"A child?" Roy asked, "This much blood couldn't have come from a kid."

"Which makes this more interesting."


	4. Chapter 4

The GCPD had never been the most adept PD in the nation, Jason assumed, but they seemed to be picking up on all the clues Jason and Roy had seen. Something told him that they were underpaid for work like this. Batman didn't care about politics and borders, and in a city like this, he was sorely needed. The cops could never really bring justice.

Jason took a big inhale of nicotine, swinging his legs over the roof, watching the scene unfold below. He could see the Commissioner walking in, surrounding by officers, before barking orders to everyone. They were too late, and they knew it. Jason was sure they would be sending out teams, looking for a body. At least the Commissioner had the tech to be able to identify who that blood belonged to. Jason didn't have access to that tech unless he broke into the Batcave.

"Can I bum one of those?" Roy asked, trying not to think about what he had seen. A child? It didn't make sense. Why would a Gotham crime family bring a kid to something to brutal?

Jason soundlessly dug around in his jacket for the box of cigarettes he kept. Without a word, he tossed them to Roy. Roy swung his legs over the rooftop, sitting next to Jason. He watched Roy for a moment, as he cupped the small flame to the end of the cigarette. The orange light lit up his whole face, and his hair fell from behind his ear, almost catching.

Roy inhaled deeply, enjoying the feeling for a moment. He wasn't a big smoker, but he needed one after seeing that. He could feel his nerves settle. Although, a cigarette wasn't the thing he was aching for.

"So, what are you thinking?" He asked Jason, exhaling. In reality, his mind was going a million miles a minute again. All Jason wanted was another hit, another high. He felt bad for thinking it, but the ache was coming back to his ribs. And he justified it by thinking that he couldn't fully concentrate on the case while being focused on the pain.

"Are you coming down?" He asked Roy abruptly, not wanting to think anymore.

"Uh," Roy paused, fiddling with his backpack before setting it down on the gravel between them. "Yeah."

They didn't need words, they had danced this dance before. Jason started pushing up the sleeve of his jacket, in anticipation. Roy took another drag of the cigarette before fiddling around in the pack with the glass bottle again. Jason just watched, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"So what?" Roy asked again, pulling two fresh needles from his pack. "Marone?"

He pushed the needle in the bottle before turning it upside down and pulling the stopper down, filling the syringe up about half way. He took it between his two fingers before passing it to Jason. Jason silently cursed himself, for forgetting all his supplies back at the safe house. He didn't have a tourniquet, or bandages. But as he looked at the shining metal in Roy's fingers, he knew that wouldn't stop him. He took the syringe from Roy's fingers, which automatically went to his pack to fill another for himself.

Jason paused, noting he didn't even have antiseptic. He didn't care, he thought as he made a fist and plunged the needle down into the same bloody spot from before. He'd really have to switch arms soon.

"Could be," He said, through gritted teeth as he pushed the stopper down quickly, sending a jolt through his bloodstream. Roy had given him the good stuff this time. He could feel the heat in his bloodstream, pulsing to every cell in his body. As he pulled the needle out, he exhaled, sending curls of smoke into the air between them. He pulled his forearm up to his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, while watching Roy.

Roy had one leg up, knee to his chest, as he inserted the needle into his arm. Jason watched him concentrating on the liquid in the syringe. He pushed it expertly before closing his eyes and rolling his head forward, then back, then to each side. He pulled the needle out, before putting the cap on it and throwing it back into the pack. A small trail of deep red blood oozed out of his arm, trickling down. Jason had a weird thought that since he was bleeding, all the drugs were washing away with the blood. He wanted to hold something over it, to keep all the happy feelings inside Roy.

"Could be Falcone," Roy muttered, cleaning up around them before taking another deep inhale of the cigarette. "Kid could have been used as a bargaining chip."

Jason hesitated, "Looked more like an execution to me. Unless the kid is now being trafficked. Could be a kidnapping."

Roy bit the inside of his lip, feeling the fire pulse through him. His mind was clearer, he was better at this when he was high. He could think clearer, and so could Jason. He took another drag of the cigarette before flicking the butt over the side of the building, watching the little embers fall down to the cement below before fading out. He looked over to Jason, "I didn't see many signs of a struggle though. The kid was walking of his own volition."

Jason nodded, "The prints would have been different had he been tied up or dragged. But you can pick up a small kid like that. Why even bother leaving prints?"

"Maybe they knew the police wouldn't be a threat," Roy noted. Jason bit his lip.

"Maybe they want to be found," Jason said, wondering what the hell they had really just stumbled on.

"So that pretty much rules out Falcone and Marone, unless they are just getting super cocky lately." Roy paused, "Although I don't think either of them are training any weird assassin kids."

Jason perked up, hearing that. He locked eyes with Roy, both with matching expressions. Maybe the kid was an operative. That was the only conclusion in his mind.

"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" Jason asked, taking a breath of nicotine before pulling the cigarette from between his lips, holding it in between two fingers.

"The League." Roy responded, casting a wary glance down to the warehouse now filled with cops. He knew no cop in Gotham would challenge the League of Assassins.


End file.
